


All The Bruises Seem To Surface

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [22]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Emotional Baggage, Friendship, Fuck Heaven, Gen, Light Angst, Religious Discussion, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 01:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Aziraphale had heard of snow , of course. A few angels around the heavenly water cooler had once talked of the new thing they were work shopping, a solid, powdery form of water. Aziraphale hadn't found it too terribly interesting at the time—he was much more fascinated by the work the Scribes were doing, all that writing and whatnot.But then he saw it.





	All The Bruises Seem To Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahaha I wrote this in 45 minutes on the band bus yikes

Aziraphale could remember when he first saw it. The Earth was still young, yes, but not quite  _ new _ . Aziraphale had spent the first thousand years or so in or around Mesopotamia, and where such weather was absolutely unheard of, but Crowley had askes him to come up North for a drink— _ the alcohol these people have, angel, it's fucking incredible _ —and it would've been terribly impolite of the angel to decline such an invitation.

Aziraphale had heard of  _ snow _ , of course. A few angels around the heavenly water cooler had once talked of the new thing they were work shopping, a solid, powdery form of water. Aziraphale hadn't found it too terribly interesting at the time—he was much more fascinated by the work the Scribes were doing, all that  _ writing _ and whatnot.

But then he  _ saw it _ . It was marvellous, light and soft and covering every surface as far as the eye could see in crisp, clean white.

Crowley had hated it.

Still hated it, actually.

He sat on Aziraphale's sofa in the back of the bookshop and grumbled to himself as the snow fell in fat, white flakes.

"It's ridiculous," the demon complained, twirling his sunglasses between his fingers. "Really. 'S just rain with a complex."

"Well I think it's lovely," Aziraphale argued, taking his usual seat across from Crowley, a mug of cocoa in his hands. "It certainly lends to the atmosphere, doesn't it? Makes everything seem a little brighter, a little more magical."

"Just what we need," Crowley grouched. "More bloody magic."

"Oh, hush," Azirphale tutted, swatting the demon's leg. "As if you don't use miracles willy-nilly—"

"Are they still called miracles when they're done by a demon?"

"I think you just don't want to admit that you like something so…  _ pure _ ."

"Pure?" Crowley asked. "Ha! No, that is not  _ pure _ — _ that _ is going to turn into brown, muddy, disgusting sludge in about an hour, and it's going to seep through everyone's shoes, and going to make the roads all slick—d'you know how many people die in snow-related car accidents every year, angel?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Enlighten me."

"Well, actually, I'm not sure, but it's got to be a lot."

The angel huffed and took another sip of his cocoa. "My dear, if I didn't know better, I'd say you cared," he said dryly.

Crowley's lips flattened into a line and he cocked his head to the side. "Angel," he said, "I told Lucifer to go fuck himself for this great, spinning rock. Pretty sure the whole  _ not caring  _ train left the station a while ago."

"I suppose you do have a point."

"I always do," Crowley replied with a shrug.

"Let's not get into that," Aziraphale said diplomatically. "I simply can't believe you dislike  _ snow _ of all things."

The demon huffed and looked away. "'S just," he said softly. "Don't like how it makes everything so…  _ white _ . Bare. It's just—I don't like it."

For a moment, Aziraphale didn't understand.

Then, because he was in fact  _ quite  _ clever, despite what evidence from certain recent events might have shown, he caught on.

"Oh," he said quietly. "It looks like—it remind you—Heaven, this is about Heaven, is it not?"

Crowley glared at him. "What, you want a prize, Mr. Holmes?"

"Crowley—"

"Forget it, angel. It's ridiculous. I just… don't like it, alright?"

"I suppose that makes sense," Aziraphale muttered. "You know, I never thought of it like that, but now that you've said it—"

"It's all so white and  _ empty  _ and  _ cold _ ," Crowley interrupted. "I just—Earth isn't supposed to  _ be  _ that. It's not Heaven, it's not Hell, it's just—it just  _ is _ ."

"It's what makes it so wonderful," Aziraphale agreed.

"So."

"So," Aziraphale repeated. "No snow."

"Not ideally, no."

"Of course, the fact that you're cold blooded most likely doesn't help."

"Nah, I can handle that. Have you seen the things humans are coming up with these days? Electric socks and all that? Bloody remarkable."

"They really are," Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley smiled at him.

Neither of them were talking about socks.

Neither of them cared about the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> Its garbage but gimme your opinions please


End file.
